


Objects In Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear

by cincilin



Series: Enemies With Benefits—The Quarantine [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: (Also Not In The Way You Think), (Not In The Way You Think Though), (but only a little) - Freeform, And They Don't Get They're In Love, Blow Jobs, Cross-faction relationship, Enemies With Benefits, Fluids, Gentle Sex, Kissing, M/M, Minor Angst, Oral Fixation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Teasing, They Smash Gently and Lovingly for ~6.5k Words, Two Mechs One Braincell, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Valve Fingering (Transformers), Yeah you read that right, brief descriptions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22427764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincilin/pseuds/cincilin
Summary: Hot Rod had always looked forward to these rendez-vous-s with Deadlock. The sheer thrill of having a secret Decepticon frag buddy alone would’ve been enough to keep him coming back, but with the week he’d had and the fact that last time Deadlock had been… well, he was always good. But last time had been somehow softer? More caring? More thorough! Yeah, that’s the one. Like Deadlock thought he’d never see him again.Hm.[...]“Oh, Primus.” Hot Rod groans. “Look.” He sits up fully. “After the week I’ve had? What Ifeellike is getting railed into the next one.” He crooks his finger in Deadlock’s direction. “So get over here and help me with that.”
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Hot Rod, Drift | Deadlock/Hot Rod | Rodimus | Rodimus Prime, Drift | Deadlock/Rodimus, Drift | Deadlock/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime
Series: Enemies With Benefits—The Quarantine [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1614049
Comments: 34
Kudos: 170





	Objects In Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [trouble though he may be](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19007290) by [MagicalSpaceDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalSpaceDragon/pseuds/MagicalSpaceDragon). 
  * Inspired by [and then they kissed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19904002) by [Veto_power_over_clocks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veto_power_over_clocks/pseuds/Veto_power_over_clocks). 



> Hhhhhhhhhh. I love them but they're _so_ dumb.
> 
> The brief descriptions of violence are really brief and happen in the first two paragraphs.
> 
> A _huge_ thank you to [Cee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veto_power_over_clocks) and [Treble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrebleTwenty) (go read their stuff. They're both _phenomenal)_ for cheering me on to finish this, you're the actual MVPs. An extra heaping of "Thank You" to Cee for beta-ing this and making sure all of my crimes against the common comma don't see the light of day, a special "Thank You" to Treble for thinking of that horrible joke at the end, and "Thank You"s to the DriftRod server for nurturing the AU. *Blows kisses westwards for all of you.*
> 
> Like I said in the summary, this was intended to be part of the main AU (over a year ago. When I started writing this. Time's so fake.) But one of the tenets of it is "No Taking The War Seriously" which I do here for a bit so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ We're in quarantine. Chronologically it would fit in after the events of "and then they kissed", and some other stuff that should also see the light of day relatively soon-ish maybe, but hell if I know by how much.
> 
> Anyhow, have fun, leave kudos and comments, they're in love and kind of sad and _very_ stupid and I love them dearly.

The grenade had gone off less than two meters away from him and pretty much took his spoiler wing, all of the plating on his upper left and sent an impressive chunk of shrapnel straight into his skull.

Hot Rod had remained conscious just long enough to see Silverstrike—they were having food together when the alarms started, he never got to finish the joke about the Decepticon and the Functionist in a bar—gurgle energon out of his vents and have it ignite from the heat of them.

The next thing he remembers is Ratchet shining a light into his optics to check if they work. (The left one didn’t, still doesn’t.) And while he would rather never ever have to deal with Ratchet’s bedside manner again in his life, the upside of being under the care of The Chief Medical Officer was that he was sufficiently on his feet to sign an AMA and leave just in time to not miss this meeting.

Hot Rod had always looked forward to these rendez-vous-s with Deadlock. The sheer thrill of having a secret Decepticon frag buddy alone would’ve been enough to keep him coming back, but with the week he’d had and the fact that last time Deadlock had been… well, he was always good. But last time had been somehow softer? More caring? More thorough! Yeah, that’s the one. Like Deadlock thought he’d never see him again.

Hm.

When he enters the room they’ve booked for the night, Deadlock jumps up from his seat, his expression shifting into relief, then into guilt as he registers the state Hot Rod’s in. 

It doesn’t take Hot Rod much to put two and two together.

“You knew.”

Deadlock outright flinches at his words. _Good._

“Hot Rod, I—”

“The last time you saw me. You knew the raid was going to happen.” Hot Rod curls his hands into fists. “People died. My _friends—_ ” his voice cracks. He takes a shaky invent, “You knew this was going to happen. And you didn’t tell me.”

Deadlock isn’t looking at him. “Would you have told me?” 

Just like that, all of Hot Rod’s rage evaporates, leaving a solid lump of bitterness in the back of his intake. Because he _wouldn’t have_ . He would’ve felt _awful_ and _guilty_ and _like the worst person ever_ … but he wouldn’t have said anything.

He looks Deadlock over. He’s still staring at some point between them, shoulders drawn so tense it’s a wonder he hasn’t half transformed into vehicle mode. 

Hot Rod sighs, crosses the room and throws himself face-first on the berth. Pain erupts along the entire left side of his body. 

“Owwww.” 

He turns his head to look at Deadlock. Then turns it a little more because he’s to Hot Rod’s left. Deadlock looks… contrite. Which? On one hand _good_ , because this is all his fault (somehow). But on the other, if the situation were reversed Hot Rod would really, _really_ want for Deadlock not to hold it against him.

After letting Deadlock stew in silence for a few seconds longer he sighs again, “I’m fine.” and turns so that he’s lying on his back. It takes more effort than he’d like. “Let's just get started.” 

When he doesn’t hear Deadlock move he lifts himself to his elbows to give him a judgemental look. 

“What?”

Deadlock hasn’t exactly lost any of his tension, but now, instead of being locked into place, he seems two seconds from bolting. “We don’t have to do anything if you’re not feeling—”

“Oh, Primus.” Hot Rod groans. “Look.” He sits up fully. “After the week I’ve had? What I _feel like_ is getting railed into the next one.” He crooks his finger in Deadlock’s direction. “So get over here and help me with that.”

Deadlock looks uncertain for another moment, then keeps looking uncertain while he approaches the berth. “How do you want to do this today?”

Hot Rod opens his mouth to deliver something sexy and sarcastic but… how _did_ he want to do this today? He knew _what_ he wanted, obviously, but the fact was that he also didn’t have it in him to put any effort towards getting it.

“Just… do whatever and we’ll figure it out as we go along.” He waves his hand in a dismissive gesture and lies back again.

Deadlock keeps looking down at him with that conflicted expression, and were it any other day Hot Rod would’ve wiggled his hips and flashed a flirty smile to tide him over, but today is not any other day.

Finally, Deadlock says, “You’ll tell me if you want to stop at any point.” It’s not a question.

“Yeah, yeah, why would I ever do anything different?”

Deadlock nods and sits down next to him. Which? Not exactly where Hot Rod wants him, but eh. At least it’s not on his blind side.

Deadlock seems to be scrutinising him. Usually that’s a huge turn on, being the center of Deadlock’s laser focus, but today he’s just impatient.

“Well?” he says.

Deadlock’s eyes settle back onto Hot Rod’s. He rolls back to an elbow, then leans down to brush his lips over Hot Rod’s temple. Then over his chevron. His cheek. The corner of his mouth. Hot Rod nearly flinches when he feels Deadlock’s hand cup his face under his bad eye, but then Deadlock’s lips are over his, a kiss so soft and gentle Hot Rod doesn’t know what to do with it.

“What are you doing?” Hot Rod whispers, their lips touching.

“What?” Deadlock whispers back.

“This.” Hot Rod waves a hand between them. “What is this?”

Deadlock arches an orbital ridge at him. “You said ’do whatever’.”

“Yeah but…” Hot Rod bites his lip.

Deadlock frowns. “But what?”

“How does this play into ‘rail me into next week’?”

Deadlock’s mouth’s a thin line for a second. “I’m not doing that today, Hot Rod.”

“Are you serious?” Hot Rod pushes himself up to his elbows, Deadlock moving to give him room. “It’s literally what I asked you for!”

“I’m not aggravating your injuries.”

“I said I’m fine!” 

Deadlock purses his lips— _Primus_ , they could be kissing right now—”I’m not doing something that makes me uncomfortable.” Hot Rod deflates at that. “If you’re looking for someone to hurt you, I’m not your guy.”

“That’s not…” Hot Rod lies back down, rubs his hands over his eyes, “That’s not what I want.”

“Good,” says Deadlock, “because I don’t want that either.”

He takes Hot Rod’s hand from his face, places another of those impossibly soft kisses to the back of it, then to the fingers. “Do you know what you want right now?” Turns his hand to kiss the palm.

“I want…” He brushes his thumb over Deadlock’s lower lip. “I want to…” Deadlock kisses it too.

 _‘I want to pretend that we’re not at war.’_ He can’t even bring himself to say it. The war’s been going on for so long, permeated every single aspect of their existence, that even the thought of it not happening feels alien to him.

Something in his expression or field or, or _aura_ seems to have given Deadlock whatever he’s been asking for, because he kisses Hot Rod’s palm one more time, presses their hands down to the berth and leans over him to lick at his mouth. _Finally._

It had been a Very Good Day in Hot Rod’s life when Deadlock had gotten over whatever it was that was keeping him clinging to the ‘No Kissing’ rule. He’d always thought that Deadlock would be a good kisser, so that wasn’t surprising, but he hadn’t counted on the sheer _enthusiasm_ Deadlock would have for it.

Every kiss, every single one, felt like Deadlock was kissing him for the very first time. His lips, his teeth, his tongue, Deadlock seemed to take every opportunity to thoroughly and with great care explore Hot Rod’s mouth.

It got his fans roaring every time.

They separate with Deadlock giving his lower lip one last tug before making his way, kissing and licking, to Hot Rod’s throat cables. He takes his time, feeling out every line in his neck, mouthing at them, closing his teeth around them, like he’s trying out how they fit.

Considering how much Deadlock loved having his mouth on him, Hot Rod is _genuinely awed_ that the ‘No Kissing’ rule lasted as long as it did.

He lets go of Hot Rod’s hand to trace a line down his chest, steering as far right as their position allows. At the same moment he finally reaches his hip seams, Deadlock finds the line he’s looking for and bites down.

It’s barely enough to scrape, let alone do any actual damage but the reminder that Deadlock _could_ end him in one move and that he _won’t_ makes up almost as much of the heat pooling between Hot Rod’s legs as Deadlock’s careful touch.

His hand moves to trailing the outline of Hot Rod’s interface panel. “Spike or valve?” 

Hot Rod’s not sure when he closed his optics, but he opens them to Deadlock staring at his hands over Hot Rod’s plating in clear fascination.

“Hot Rod,” Deadlock whispers, not looking up.

“Hmm?” 

Apparently his modesty plates had retracted without him noticing because when Deadlock says “Spike?” he rakes his fingers directly over Hot Rod’s spike cover and he has to bite his lip to keep a moan in. “Or valve?” Deadlock circles his valve panel stopping right above where his anterior node is. Hot Rod’s hips give a twitch.

Deadlock’s face turns pensive. “Well, to start with.”

Hot Rod doesn’t stop the snort that pulls out of him.

“Hmm… Valve. I li—” He cuts himself off with a sigh when he feels Deadlock drumming at his panel, “I like how your fingers feel inside me”

The noise Deadlock’s engine makes in response is practically a snarl.

“Alright.” He kisses the side of Hot Rod’s head. “We’ll start with that then.”

Deadlock taps his panel once, twice, then follows it as it folds open, traces the edges of it, stops at the end of his interface array. Doesn’t move further.

Hot Rod wiggles his hips impatiently, clutches at Deadlock’s arm. “Deadlock. Deadlock, come _on!”_ He practically whines.

Deadlock’s laughter is warm and breathy against his audial, kiss gentle against his cheek, touch devastatingly light as he finally slides his fingers between Hot Rod’s valve folds—hahaha, wow, is he really _that_ wet already?—and starts circling his entrance.

It has Hot Rod throwing his head back and groaning in frustration. “I thought you weren’t into teasing!”

Deadlock laughs some more. “Have I ever said that?”

Hot Rod raises his head to glare at him but… Deadlock’s looking at him again, in that one way only Deadlock’s ever looked at him, like the whole universe could fall apart but it wouldn’t matter as long as Hot Rod remained in his line of sight… It makes his charge ramp up so fast it leaves him dizzy and all he can do, all he _wants_ to do, is tug Deadlock down for a kiss.

They separate to Hot Rod panting and Deadlock trailing tiny licks and kisses down his chin, to his neck cables.

When he reaches that one line again—how funny to think about, Deadlock having a favourite place on his neck—he bites down and slips two fingers into Hot Rod’s valve.

Honestly, that one should've gotten old by now but… Hot Rod’s hips buck and he throws his head back with a moan. 

Deadlock builds up a steady rhythm, occasionally curling his fingers, scissoring them, stretching him open, and it’s not long before Hot Rod’s a mess of moans, breathy “Deadlock”-s and garbled half-sentences that he hopes convey how good it feels.

Then Deadlock shifts a bit and brings a thumb against his anterior node and Hot Rod has to actually yank him up for a kiss to muffle his shout.

He overloads practically crushing Deadlock's mouth to his own and still trying to moan Deadlock's name. 

Deadlock stills his hand but keeps circling his node, softer and softer until Hot Rod slackens his grip and relaxes into the berth.

That was _good._ It always is, with Deadlock.

Gently, Deadlock pulls out his fingers, mindful of how tender his valve must be post-overload.

Hot Rod’s still hazy with pleasure when Deadlock brings his hand up to examine the sticky mess on it. He stares at it for a few moments, as if fascinated, only to bring his fingers to his lips and lick them.

Hot Rod groans.

Snapped out of his reverie, Deadlock looks at him and raises an orbital ringe.

“That should not be that hot,” Hot Rod says, pointing in the vague direction of Deadlock’s mouth.

Deadlock smirks at him, his forefinger between his teeth. “Maybe you’re just weak on me.”

Hot Rod glares at his stupid, smug, _pretty_ face, and jerks Deadlock’s hand as hard as he can.

“Wh—” The words dissolve in Deadlock’s vocaliser with a choke when Hot Rod closes his lips around two of his fingers and sucks.

Hot Rod gives the smuggest, most slag-eating grin he can… but Deadlock seems to not notice, his entire being apparently zeroing in on the digits between Hot Rod’s teeth.

Well. Might as well go all out. 

He takes Deadlock’s fingers as deep as he can, runs his tongue over the hinges, teases the delicate seams between them, moans. 

Deadlock’s vents rattle.

Hot Rod pulls back until Deadlock’s fingers are just resting against his lips. “Who’s weak on whom again?”

Deadlock’s optics cycle through apertures, as if Hot Rod’s words need some time to register, until he finally focuses on the entirety of Hot Rod’s face.

Hot Rod cranks up the grin again.

Deadlock scowls at him, which only makes Hot Rod grin wider, which makes Deadlock scowl deeper and so on until Hot Rod feels like both their faces will get permanently stuck like that.

Then Deadlock jerks his hand and smears lubricant, both valve and oral, all over his face.

“Dude!” Hot Rod practically squeals. “Ewww!”

He tries to shove Deadlock’s hand off, but in a flash Deadlock has moved on top of him, straddling his hips. 

The change in position gives Hot Rod an unobscured view of Deadlock’s face and his next shove is half-hearted at best, because Deadlock is laughing and it shifts his face into something light, something bright, something… something—

Deadlock smears lubricant over Hot Rod’s eye, turning his world a pink blur.

“Deadlock!” Hot Rod yells. “My other eye’s busted, you glitch!” He lets go of Deadlock’s arm entirely and reaches to wipe his eye. 

Before he gets there, Deadlock’s fingers close around his. “Let me,” he says. “You’ve got so much kibble, you’ll just poke your other eye out too.”

Hot Rod scoffs in offence. “I’ve had all this kibble for a long time! I know how to deal with it!” Still, when Deadlock brings his clean hand to the corner of his eye, Hot Rod invents deeply and relaxes into the touch, lets Deadlock wipe his eye clean with the pad of his thumb. 

When his vision clears, it’s entirely filled with Deadlock’s face, optic ridges furrowed as if he’s handling something fragile and precious.

For the first time since they’ve started this arrangement, Hot Rod feels shy.

Unaware of Hot Rod’s minor crisis, Deadlock brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks the lubricant off.

Hot Rod snorts. “Do you even think about doing that when you do that or do you just naturally stick things into your mouth?”

Deadlock hums, eyes tracing Hot Rod’s face, then pulls out his thumb with a pop. 

Next thing Hot Rod knows, Deadlock is even closer than before and his tongue is sweeping along his cheek. 

Hot Rod stiffens. “Seriously?” 

Deadlock’s laughter is warm against his cheek. “Shut up.”

Hot Rod rolls his eyes. “Should I worry that you’ll start tearing into plating soon?” He tilts his head to give Deadlock better access.

Deadlock hums into the space below his audial. "At least it’d give you something to remember me by." He scrapes his teeth across a fuel line. 

"Remember you by?" Hot Rod laughs. “You think I need a souvenir to remember you?” He brings his hands up, places them on the back of Deadlock’s head to keep him there. “I don’t think it’s possible for me to think about you more than I already do.”

For a moment Deadlock goes stiff under his hands, then raises himself back up to kiss Hot Rod’s mouth.

Hot Rod’s ready for him, parting his lips and letting Deadlock in the second their mouths touch. He tastes himself on Deadlock's tongue and moans.

Deadlock breaks the kiss, intent on returning to Hot Rod’s neck, but is stopped by Hot Rod’s hands on his cheek guards.

"Did I ever tell you that you're an amazing kisser?” Hot Rod traces Deadlock's lips with his thumb. 

Deadlock laughs again. "You've told me that I'm pretty good at a lot of things."

"I meant it." Hot Rod tightens his grip slightly. "Everything I say. I mean it."

Deadlock invents deeply. His eyes shutter and he kisses the thumb Hot Rod still has over his mouth. "I know." He mumbles, then takes both of Hot Rod’s hands, intertwining their fingers, and presses them down to the berth. 

He kisses Hot Rod’s mouth one last time then makes his way downward, mapping Hot Rod’s plating with his lips, kissing, licking, gently scraping his teeth where he can. Every time Hot Rod tries to untangle their hands Deadlock would stop, look up at him, and squeeze his hands as if silently reprimanding.

By the time he reaches his interface panel, Hot Rod’s charge has gone back up all the way, fans roaring, spike pressurised, valve calipers squeezing around nothing. Deadlock lets go of Hot Rod’s hand to lift his right leg up and over his shoulder, then kisses a path from knee to Hot Rod’s hip.

When Deadlock traces the wires in his hip seam with his tongue, Hot Rod can't help the way his hips buck. 

He reaches for Deadlock's head, only to have Deadlock’s hand close over his again. “Lie back and leave this to me.”

Hot Rod moans, “I want to touch you. Let me touch you.” He rubs little circles with his thumb into the back of Deadlock’s hand. “I want you to feel good too.”

Deadlock tugs his hand down and presses a soft kiss to his fingers. “You will,” he says against them. “And I am. Tr— I’m doing what I want.”

Hot Rod cranes his neck to look at him in disbelief, but when he does Deadlock’s eyes are locked on his array, hazy with want, and he’s licking his lips. His engine practically skips a gear at the sight. Deadlock looks up at the sound and when he catches Hot Rod’s eye he smirks. The jerk.

Not breaking eye contact, he settles in more comfortably between Hot Rod’s legs, takes hold of his hips and licks his lips once more. “Spike or valve?”

Hot Rod’s fans couldn’t spin any faster. “I think,” he resets his vocaliser to clear the static. “I think I’ll leave it up to you this time.”

Deadlock licks his lips again and teases the wires in his hips. “Good choice.”

The brilliant retort Hot Rod had to that gets lost in static when Deadlock closes his lips around the tip of his spike and sucks.

Deadlock’s mouth is warm and wet and welcoming and perfect and Hot Rod tries to say as much but all that comes out is a moan. He takes him in all the way and Hot Rod’s thighs shake with the effort of not crushing Deadlock’s head between them and his hands grip uselessly at the berth.

When he hears the faint “snikt” of a panel transforming away and looks down to see Deadlock grinding his hips against the berth, desperate for stimulation, Hot Rod gives up and brings his hands to his mouth to bite back the overload.

Deadlock stops.

“Are you serious right now?” Hot Rod grits out.

Deadlock lifts his head, leaving Hot Rod cold, twitching and very sad that he can’t kick him in the face from this position. “I want to hear you.” He tweaks his wires again. “Don’t cover your mouth.”

“Then give me something to hold onto you bastard!”

Deadlock laughs, warm air against Hot Rod’s spike causing his hips to twitch. “You really _suck_ at being patient.”

Hot Rod squints at him. He refuses to give Deadlock the satisfaction. “Yeah, well you really _suck,”_ okay, much satisfaction, “at not killing me. This is so not fair, I can't reach you, I can't touch you." 

"Tragic." Is the deadpan reply.

Hot Rod groans. "What happened to overload for overload?" 

Deadlock presses a kiss to the space between Hot Rod’s spike and anterior node, making his hips buck. "You'll make it up to me." He licks a stripe up Hot Rod's spike. 

Hot Rod doesn't even bother trying to suppress his moan. "Next time," he pants, "next time I'm tying you down and overloading you into a hard reboot." 

Deadlock chuckles against him. "You'd have to chase me down and catch me for something like that." 

Unbidden, the image of Deadlock in car mode plasters itself across the inside of Hot Rod’s optics. He never saw it in person, only in grainy intel shots, but with the real deal in front of him, it doesn't take much to imagine how it looks up close. To imagine all those sleek curves and sharp edges and the way he would practically fly over the road.

Hot Rod moans. "That'd be something wouldn't it?" 

Deadlock gives him a questioning look. 

"You and me," Hot Rod points at each of them in turn, "and an endless road." He could see it in his mind's eye. "I'd be faster of course." Deadlock snorts. "But just barely. Just enough for you to get a good view of my bumper." Another snort. "You'd probably say that it's on purpose." Hot Rod smiles at the image inside his mind. "We'd go so fast the gravel'd melt. Nothing could touch us. We could start at dawn and chase the sun until it inevitably ran away over the horizon. And then, when it goes completely dark, we'd change back to root in a roll." 

He lifts himself to the elbows, wanting to smirk down at Deadlock for the 'You'd be too tired to stop me from wrecking you.' Except instead of looking at him, Deadlock has his face buried against Hot Rod’s thigh, hands shaking where they held onto his plating. 

"Deadlock?" Hot Rod uncertainly reaches down to touch his helm crest. "You okay?" 

Deadlock invents deeply, once, twice. “‘m fine.” 

“Hey.” Hot Rod tugs at his finial, trying to get some eye contact. “Look at me.”

Deadlock lifts his face but keeps his eyes firmly locked on Hot Rod’s spike, which should be either really hot or really funny, but right now just makes Hot Rod feel helpless.

“Deadlock?” He can’t suppress the pleading note in his voice.

It seems to do the trick though because Deadlock raises his eyes to Hot Rod’s.

“You want to stop?”

Deadlock snorts. “And what? Leave you like this?” He nudges Hot Rod’s spike with his nasal ridge.

Hot Rod invents sharply. “I mean… Not gonna lie and say I’m not all revved up, but one,” he raises a finger at Deadlock, “I have hands and two,” he raises another, “it’s not gonna last all that long if you’re sad like that.”

At that, Deadlock actually pouts. “I’m not sad.”

Hot Rod rolls his eyes. “Melancholy, dejected, despondent, forlorn, glum, mor—aaah!”

In one smooth motion, Deadlock swallows him down until his lips meet Hot Rod’s spike housing.

“Oh," Hot Rod pants. "That’s just cheating.”

Deadlock’s mouth splits into a grin to show just how not sorry he feels, which is both very hot and Hot Rod will be thinking about it often, and even worse cheating because it distracts him from where Deadlock’s hands are until he feels two fingers entering him and a thumb against his anterior node.

Hot Rod’s hips buck and he throws his head back with a moan. "Primus."

Deadlock chuckles around his spike and starts pumping his fingers and bobbing his head in tandem. 

Hot Rod keens.

"O-oh! Okay! Okay.” His hands scramble uselessly against the berth. “Anything, do anything you want, just don't stop." 

There’s some shifting out of his line of sight, then Deadlock’s free hand is searchingly patting the berth next to his. Hot Rod exvents and grabs ahold of it with both hands.

When Deadlock hums in acknowledgement, Hot Rod feels it more than he hears it, and curls his fingers into a particularly sensitive node cluster at the top of Hot Rod’s valve to make it cycle down.

"Yeah, y-yeah, right there, just like that.” Hot Rod can feel the heat of overload creeping through his lines. “You're so good, you're perfect, you're so good to me.” He clutches at Deadlock’s hand, as if he were trying to impart the words through touch as well. “No one else has ever been this good to me." Deadlock moans around his spike hearing that, and the very idea of Deadlock getting off on his words has Hot Rod tumbling into overload with a garbled attempt at a warning.

When he has enough strength to look down again, Deadlock’s already sitting up, licking his hand clean. There’s a dazed look on his face, his fans shrieking, and his spike and valve are both twitching and leaking, the charge practically crackling off of them.

Hot Rod desperately wishes he could hold on to the sight forever.

Or at least to get a closer look.

“Hey, Deadlock.” Deadlock hums in acknowledgement around his fingers. “I think you should totally sit on my face.”

Deadlock freezes mid lick, then looks him over slowly, deliberately. Hot Rod gives his flirtiest smile and licks his lips.

“Tempting.” He puts his hands on the berth. “But some other time.”

Hot Rod’s face falls. “Seriously?” He lifts himself as best as he can to wave a hand at Deadlock. “You’re practically sparking from the charge!”

“Yeah and you’re 30% new plating,” Deadlock counters, waving back. “I don’t think either of us would have a good time if I were to put my weight on the new spoiler and you bit down in pain.”

That… was a very good point actually.

Hot Rod rubs his face. “Alright.” He lies back down. “Alright. Straddle me.” 

Deadlock seems ready to argue, so Hot Rod ramps it up. _“Deadlock,”_ he moans and starts slowly dragging his hands down his body. “If I can’t have you _in_ me,” he cants his hips to draw Deadlock’s eye to the way he cycles his valve down, “then let me have you _on_ me at least.” He brings his hands to rest on his hips, framing his array. 

When he looks back up at him, Deadlock’s mouth is hanging open and he’s leaning forward. “Fine. Fine, we’ll do it your way. But if—”

“If I get uncomfortable or start hurting I’ll tell you to stop,” Hot Rod finishes for him. “We’ve already been over this, now come on!” He pats his thighs. “I wanna get you off.”

Deadlock’s engine rumbles but he crawls up over him and straddles Hot Rod’s hips without further protest. “Good?” he asks.

Hot Rod looks him over, takes in every curve and angle, the pulsing biolights, the gaps in the plating he could fit his fingers through to tease wires, the way Deadlock bites his lip once Hot Rod starts trailing his hands from knee to hip. Hot lubricant drips from Deadlock’s valve onto his array. “Perfect,” he sighs.

“So,” Hot Rod can hear the way Deadlock’s vents grow more laboured with each pass of his hands over plating, “spike or valve?”

Deadlock doesn’t seem to hear him, staring at the hands teasing the gaps in his hip joints, fans practically screaming with effort. 

Hot Rod decides to take pity.

"You know what?" He presses the bottom rim of Deadlock's valve with his thumbs. Lubricant gushes out, running down his fingers. Deadlock vents even faster and bites his lip so hard Hot Rod's surprised there's no energon, but he keeps still and silent, eyes not leaving Hot Rod's hands. "I think we can do both."

He runs his hands up, over Deadlock's valve lips, his node, all the way up to the tip of his spike. Deadlock’s restraint breaks and he moans, long and deep, hips bucking. _Finally._

"Primus,” Hot Rod vents out. “I love hearing you." He wraps one hand around the base of Deadlock's spike and trails the other over his valve. Deadlock’s thighs tremble. "I love watching you." Deadlock tilts his head, his lips are parted and when he looks at Hot Rod his eyes are flashing, overbright. "You're so hot, I can't believe how hot you are. How are you alive with how hot you are?" Deadlock's vents hitch, then he breaks off into laughter. It's full and deep and just a little breathless and Hot Rod caused it and he could spend the rest of his life just basking in its warmth. 

"You should laugh more often," he says after Deadlock trails off. He gives him a questioning look. "It's… Wonderful." 

Deadlock’s eyes widen but before Hot Rod can elaborate or backtrack or anything, he crashes their mouths together. 

Deadlock has never kissed him this desperately, like he's trying to pour his whole being into one kiss. His hands curl around Hot Rod's audials and he presses as close as possible, seeking every single point of contact he can and, and-

"Oww." Hot Rod breaks the kiss. 

Deadlock backs off as if burnt. "Sorry!" 

"What?” Hot Rod raises himself to his elbows. “No, hey, no, get back here." 

"I'm not-" 

"You're not hurting me!" Hot Rod cuts him off, exasperated. "Just don't put your whole weight on me and get back here." He lies back down. "I want to kiss you again. I love kissing you." He makes a grabbing motion with his hands. "Come back here and kiss me some more."

After a moment, Deadlock's hands close around his. He kisses the palm of each, then crawls on top of him, staying propped up on elbows and knees. Hot Rod smiles and guides Deadlock's mouth to his by the chin.

This time, Deadlock starts gentle, barely there, so Hot Rod wraps his arms around his neck and licks at his mouth.

At the moment Deadlock pushes his tongue past Hot Rod’s teeth, Hot Rod reaches down and curls his hand around Deadlock's spike. Deadlock’s moan reverberates through the both of them and might just be the most satisfying sound Hot Rod has ever heard.

"Hot Rod," Deadlock sighs against his lips and proves him immediately wrong. 

"Hmm?" Hot Rod starts lazily pumping his hand. 

"I can't, ah," Deadlock resets his vocaliser, "I can't k-kiss you and, hah, hold this position if you d-do that." His whole frame quivers.

"Hmm…" He rubs the tip of Deadlock's spike with a thumb, spreading the prefluid around. “Shift so you're more comfortable, I want to watch you overload.”

Deadlock moans. He raises himself to his hands, just far enough for Hot Rod to be able to see his whole face.

Hot Rod grins. "Perfect." He starts moving his hand faster, occasionally twisting it, thumbing the tip. Deadlock trembles above him, his optics shuttering halfway every few seconds, never fully, as if he couldn’t bear to break eye contact. The thought sends a new rush of charge through Hot Rod. 

He brings his other hand to Deadlock's mouth, to the place where he's biting his lip, trying to coax him into letting go. "You're absolutely perfect." Deadlock closes his lips around Hot Rod’s finger and sucks.

Hot Rod squeezes just a little bit harder, pushes his finger against the tip of Deadlock's fang and the next thing he knows is Deadlock curling forward with a whine, struggling not to bite down, and hot, wet transfluid spilling over his front.

He lets go when Deadlock tries to shift his hips away. 

Deadlock cycles a few vents before focusing his optics back onto Hot Rod. He hangs his head with a groan.

Hot Rod frowns in question. “What?”

“Shut up.” Deadlock grumbles, inclining his head at the length of Hot Rod’s body.

Hot Rod looks down. Oh. From the edge of his collar to the rim of his array, his chest and abdomen are covered in streaks of softly glowing transfluid. If Deadlock had set out to mark him on purpose, he would’ve been less thorough. Hot Rod snorts.

“Shut. Up,” Deadlock growls, his biolights flashing in embarrassment.

“I didn’t say anything!” Hot Rod protests, though he can’t help the teasing grin that overtakes his face.

“You thought it,” Deadlock mumbles, head still hanging down.

“Thought what?” Hot Rod says, dragging a finger through the mess on his chest.

When Deadlock rights his head to glare at him, Hot Rod pops that finger into his mouth.

He makes sure to be thorough, wiggling his tongue against the hinges. “Hey, Deadlock,” he says after it’s clean. 

Deadlock seems transfixed by his mouth. “Hn?” he manages.

“You still charged up?” Hot Rod inclines his head towards Deadlock’s array. His spike has mostly receded, but his node’s still pulsing brightly.

Deadlock follows him, looking at his own body as if he’s seeing it for the first time. He blinks. “Kinda, yeah.”

Hot Rod raises his hips, drawing Deadlock’s attention to his repressurised spike. “Wanna go for a ride?”

Deadlock blinks again, then snorts and looks back to his face. "You sure you can take it, hot shot?" 

Smirking, Hot Rod trails his hands up Deadlock's thighs. "Sweetspark, I can take you anywhere you want."

Deadlock shakes his head, but he's biting his lip in an effort to hide a smile, so Hot Rod considers it a win.

"Alright." Deadlock lifts himself to his knees. "Let's see what you've got."

He raises his arms above his head and stretches, giving Hot Rod a view of the full length of his torso. Hot Rod takes his time looking him over. When he reaches his face, Deadlock’s smirking down on him. The jerk.

 _Very_ pretty jerk though. 

Hot Rod hums. "Yeah, as much as I’m game for giving you some hot porno talk, " Deadlock’s laugh dies in his vocaliser when Hot Rod’s hands settle on his hips to guide him down, "I honestly think you're gonna have to do most of the work this time."

"That's fine," Deadlock exvents, wrapping his hand around Hot Rod’s spike and teasing the rim of his valve with the tip, "I don't think I'm gonna need much." 

Hot Rod tries to stay still to fully enjoy the sight. He knows it's not a snug fit by any stretch of the imagination, he's seen what Deadlock can take and the size difference between them, while not big, isn’t in Hot Rod’s favour. Still, the way Deadlock shutters his optics and bites his lip as he sinks down kept him up with his hand around his spike way more often than Hot Rod wants to admit.

"Good?" Hot Rod asks and brings his hands to tease the wires through the gaps in Deadlock's hip plating.

"Perfect," Deadlock sighs. 

He starts slowly rolling his hips, never really lifting from Hot Rod all that much, focusing more on grinding their plating together. 

When Hot Rod brings a hand to his node, Deadlock curls forward with a moan.

He trails his other hand up Deadlock’s side. "Deadlock," Hot Rod pants out, tugging him down. "Deadlock, come here." 

Instead of an answer, Deadlock just keens. 

"Deadlock, come here and kiss me."

Shaking, Deadlock bends down to press his mouth against Hot Rod’s. 

It’s clumsy and wet and really just pressing their mouths together instead of an actual kiss, but combined with the sheer _need_ in Deadlock's field it's enough.

"'m close," Deadlock murmurs against his lips. 

"Me too," Hot Rod whispers back and speeds up the hand on Deadlock’s node.

Hot Rod can't say who tumbled over first, but when he comes to, Deadlock somehow managed to stay careful and not put any weight on him.

For some reason, that makes his spark clench.

Deadlock collapses to the side, heaving air, and they spend the next few minutes staring at the ceiling, listening to their fans wind down.

“That was _good,”_ Hot Rod finally manages.

Deadlock turns to face him. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Hot Rod turns as well and can’t stop himself from smiling at the look of utter contentment on Deadlock’s face.

Deadlock’s mouth quirks in question. “What?”

“Nothing. Just…” Hot Rod reaches for his cheekguard with a hand. “Kiss me again.”

Deadlock huffs but leans over to cover Hot Rod’s mouth with his own. They go slow and deliberate, as if they had all the time in the world.

“How long can you stay?” Hot Rod asks when they separate. 

“Until morning,” Deadlock says, moving to curl around him.

“Good. Me too.” He brings his hand up to trace Deadlock’s finials. Deadlock’s engine starts purring.

For a little while, with Deadlock tucked into his side and Deadlock’s hand on his abdominal plating—mess of fluids and all, but Primus, he doesn’t have the energy to get up and wash just yet—Hot Rod could say that life was perfect and actually mean it.

“Hey, Deadlock?” Hot Rod asks after a while.

He gets a sleepy hum in reply.

“Do you know the joke about a Decepticon and a Functionist walking into a bar?”

Deadlock engine stops thrumming. “Where’d that come from?”

“Just…” Hot Rod stills his hand. “Someone started telling it and I never heard the punchline.”

Deadlock shifts to look at him. “I know one about an Autobot and a Functionist in a bar.” He frowns. “It’s not very funny.”

“Yeah? Tell it to me anyways,” Hot Rod prompts.

Deadlock hums. “An Autobot and a Functionist walk into a bar…” He looks to the side as if digging through his processor. “Something, something, ‘Would you like to have a reasonable debate about it?’ asks the Autobot, as the Functionist strips them of their fundamental rights,” he finishes in a rush.

There’s a moment of stillness, then Hot Rod bursts into laughter. 

Deadlock looks at him as if he’s crazy. “It’s not… actually funny,” he says.

Hot Rod barely hears him. He keeps laughing until his sides hurt and his optics start fluctuating, until his engine hitches and he feels as if his fuel pump found its way to his throat, until his laughter turns into sobs.

“Hot Rod?” There’s an edge of panic to Deadlock’s voice as he raises himself into a sitting position. “Hot Rod, what’s wrong?”

Hot Rod shakes his head and blindly reaches towards him, his sobs turning heaving.

Deadlock’s quick to wrap his arms around him and lift him into his lap.

The new position puts pressure on his wounded side and it hurts, but Deadlock’s engine is right under his audial and Deadlock’s warmth is all around him and Hot Rod can’t bear the thought of leaving the little Deadlock-shaped bubble he’s found himself in, so he just wraps his arms around Deadlock’s midsection and tries to pull him closer.

They stay like that until his crying subsides into occasional hiccups.

“Yeah,” Hot Rod croaks after some time, “it’s not that funny at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a soundtrack that goes with this, but I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/cincilin) and on [Tumblr](https://cincincilin.tumblr.com) if you wanna come cry over these boys with me.
> 
> You can also take [this post](https://cincincilin.tumblr.com/post/190488012219/objects-in-mirror-are-closer-than-they-appear) and/or [this tweet](https://twitter.com/cincilin/status/1221626246481743872?s=20) and spread the good word of the corny idiots in love. 
> 
> Kudos and comments slap, glad you had fun.


End file.
